Chapter 34: The Butcher's Blade (Role Quest)

She was fast, he'd give her that. When she had collapsed to a knee from the Echo, he had fully expected to pull the blasphemy's attention and hold it until she was up again but before he could even get his spell off, she had thrown herself in between the blasphemy and a child. A part of him - one that he was still trying to snuff out - was frustrated that he wasn't the one to do so but as her blade sliced through the blasphemy and ending its existence with very little flourish, he reminded that part of himself that combat as White Mage would drag things out too long. Fordola was the better option in combat situations. That was just how things were.

A blasphemy in the middle of the village…by the Twelve, they could have lost so many had she been any slower to subdue it.

Still, using her body as a shield wasn't the wisest of choices, predicament notwithstanding. The gashes on the back of her shoulder looked absolutely nasty and he couldn't imagine they felt any better. He kept his staff in hand as he made to cross to her only for a voice to suddenly cut through the quiet and still his feet.

"Stay away from her!"

He caught the flinch in Fordola's movement as she stilled and he shot the mother a glare before he could think better on it. Thankfully Raganfrid was quick to voice his displeasure with the mother's choice as well. "Fordola saved your girl's life!"

The mother cowed under the reprimand. "I-I know, but…she's…"

"She's trying," Echo'a finished, quelling his anger. His words remained curt despite his best efforts. "At least have the decency to recognize what she has just done for your daughter."

It was his turn to gain Raganfrid's disapproval. "Echo'a," Raganfrid started but Echo'a was already hurrying forward.

He caught Fordola's wrist before she could move much farther than the aetheryte. "Hey. Where do you think you're going injured like that?"

"Let go of me," she bit out as she tried to yank her wrist free.

He held fast, though just barely. "You're injured," he repeated as retort.

"I'm fine." She twisted in his grasp, breaking his hold. With a sharp turn, she started walking again. "Leave me be, already."

"Not injured, I'm not," he countered, this time grabbing at her arm.

Unfortunately for him, she was quicker and smacked his hand away. "I said I don't need your help!"

He rolled his eyes, tempted to brandish his staff as he shot back, "You- I am supposed to be your healer. Let me do my job." They shared a glaring match for a good long moment before she abruptly turned and started walking again. He darted after her, exasperated with her stubbornness and sympathetic with the desire to gain distance from those still watching. Even still, she would be no use to anyone injured and Echo'a was not about to let her suffer through the pain if he could help it. "Fordola."

"Tag along for all I care. It's not like I'm going very far anyway."

Taking that for the win it was, Echo'a fell into step at her side.

She had been true to her word and stopped near the bottom of the hill on the main road. As soon as she stopped, he moved to her back and began casting.

The silence between them stretched for a good long moment and he was content to leave it be. The few times he had been around her proved that she was not one for small talk and he could respect that. Besides, asking her how she was holding up would probably get him banished from helping her ever again and he was rather determined to not let her be without a healer. His pride as a healer alone wouldn't allow it, not to mention every other aspect of his capabilities balking at the idea of a comrade being without backup of any kind.

"A coeurl can't change its spots," broke through the silence, much to his surprise. His gaze flickered up from his work but she had not moved. "And there's no washing the blood off my hands. Nor would I, even if I could." He found himself inexplicably looking to his own hands before he forced his attention back on her injury. She would not appreciate his empathy even if he gave it; his hands were far from clean but to most his were cleaner than hers. "Taking up Garlean steel was the first choice, but not the last. Like the first kill - the hardest. Every "choice" after that came easier and easier…until I stopped counting. Stopped caring. You tell yourself it's right. It's for the greater good. You give the order, feel the ground tremble as the cannon fires, and when the dust settles…and your own men are buried beneath the rubble…and you tell yourself…you tell yourself…"

He stopped his casting abruptly as that all too familiar aura of dynamis, dark gray if not nearly black with despair and churning like fire, engulfed her. Confusion contaminated with panic rushed through him as he found himself taking a step back. Certainly it couldn't be that easy to change?

"Heh…" His gaze snapped to her face at the sound. "Me too…"

No. Her 'despair' had always been on the brink of changing her; she was simply losing to it now.

She cried out - be it in pain or frustration, a combination of the two or something completely different - as she struggled against it, falling to a knee. The uneven terrain bit into his knees as he got in front of her, his hands hovering close but not touching; he didn't dare on the chance it made things worse. "Fordola," came out strained as he lost every sensible thing he could say for a gut wrenching moment. Grasping at straws, he followed his instinct, good or bad. "Breathe, Fordola," he said, emulating Thancred's calm and coaxing tone when Thancred had talked him down. "Center yourself like I know you can. You can't help anyone if you change."

That was probably not the best thing to say but it was long off his tongue before he had the chance to think better on it. Lowering his hands, he waited, watching for any sign that he had either made it through to her or needed to try again.

Gradually the dark aura of dynamis faded, yet Fordola's breathing barely calmed. And then, as if it needed to be said, she bit out, "That man in the village… I saw his past. I'm the one who killed his brother!" His ears lowered at the weight in those words. As unsurprised as he was to hear them, he knew she hadn't said them to be commented on and he remained quiet. "I…I'll be all right. I just need a moment. Can you…wait with me?"

"Of course," he answered readily. Pressing a hand into the dirt, he pivoted his weight on it until he was at her side again and plopped down beside her, leaning back on his hands as he sat with his legs crossed before him and his gaze on the sky above. "Take as much time as you need."

Twelve knew she deserved that much.